Raising the Bar

The sound of a handheld tape recorder being turned on with the press of a button precedes moments of silence broken only by the crackling of the device itself.

The tape progresses in silence for several moments before the uncomfortably high pitched squeaking of a metal door being moved abruptly is suddenly heard, the lack of any impact suggesting that it was opened, and not closed. Further attesting to this blind presumption is the sound of people entering the small room, the sound of their shoes clapping noisily against the marble floor fill the otherwise empty tape, ending only as chairs are then pulled across the room and seated upon as told by their quiet groans of age and strain. Determining how many have entered the room would not be an easy task, but following yet another moment of silence, two unique and distinct voices can then be heard speaking to one another in a somewhat formal dialogue; an interview, or an interrogation. The nature of the discussion is unknown, but the circumstances surrounding the tape's creation suggests that this is more than just idle pleasantries between two friends.

The first voice, commanding in tone and deeper in pitch, is the first to speak. Creaking from his chair can be heard as he leans forward to the device, the slight wheezing of his voice and clearing of his throat denouncing him as a man in his middle-age.

"This is Hendrick Sullivan, Correctional Supervisor for Yhagni's Universal Penitentiary.Today is May 5th, 3005. The time is... Oh- Let's just say Eighteen-hundred hours."

The man's breathing fades, the chair on which he is presumably seated creaking as he no doubt straightens his posture and leans away from the recorder. A stack of papers are heard being picked up and flipped through, each flip of the page spaced out from one another by no more than a minute at most. Finally, he speaks once more, his heard no longer as clear and crisp due to distance, but he is still more than intelligible;

"I am joined by Prisoner Five-Oh-Six-Seven-Six, of District Sixteen.Miss Heather Helen Roanne, a former Corporal of the United Militia System convicted with murder of the second degree...Expected for off-world transfer and re-enlistment in the coming days.Is that accurate?"

"Pretty much."

The second voice abruptly responds without any need for further coaxing, replying to the question without hesitation nor any signs of anxiousness despite the evident circumstances. The voice's owner is easily identified to be of the opposite gender as told by the subtle differences between it and her unmistakably male counter-part, yet even then, a somewhat boyish nature is present due to the voice's hoarse condition.

"Good, good... Murder, huh?An interesting if not somewhat common report, to say the least.Care to explain what happened?"

"Ain't much to add, I told y'guys everything already--"

"We're not investigating the case, Miss Roanne. You've already pleaded Guilty.I've also already read your file - in fact, I have it right here.We're just looking for... Hmh... I suppose 'Closure' is a good word for-"

"Call up your /FUCKING/ dad if you want some fuckin' closure, scrub."

Several extended moments of audio stillness follow the overly energetic outburst from the woman, only the sounds of distant individuals shuffling with their belts - no doubt security personnel preparing to act if things were to get violent. The tension between the two parties rising considerably as neither knew how to respond, yet one eventually did;

"My bad. Y'kinda forget how to talk to people in suits after a while.Y'learn to turn everything into a jo--"

"Think nothing of it, but I sense that this is a particularly sensitive topic, so let's digress."

Following the man's words, a stack of paper could promptly be heard as they are tossed onto the table in exchange for another collection. Again, the pages flip one by one as the man reviews whatever documents lay before him.

"Specifics aside, it says here you were sentenced to fifteen years - that's pretty soft of the judge.You've further been offered early parole for signing up with a Militia group in particular, is that correct?"

"/HELL YEAH/! That's the best /FUCKIN'/ news I heard in a long-fuckin'-time!"

Despite the earlier pause between the two, the woman's energy fails to recede in any way... If anything, it only grows the more she speaks. Already, any sense of formality is abandoned by the convicted party, taking on instead a much more casual tone despite the man refusing to do the same.

"Is that so? I'm hurt, miss Roanne. Truly, I am.I thought we offered quite a comfortable habitat for people with your kind of background.Was our facilities not to your liking?"

"Joking, right?"

"No, not at all.If you have any complaints, I would love to hear them.I might even take them seriously, if they hold any water."

A short-lived but none the less lively chuckle escapes from the woman in reply to the man's sarcastic assurance.

"Christ, you Wardens are fuckin' /HILARIOUS/.For serious-- You're all like fuckin' Bond villains or some shit. S'fuckin' /WEIRD/.But yeah, this place sucks. It's a shit hole. Hell, people call it the fuckin' /PIT/."

"So I hear, but why?What exactly is wrong with... Ehm-... 'The pit'?"

"S'basically the best excuse ever made for people to get rid of other people.S'ain't like any Terran prison or any of that shit- They're /FUCKIN' SWEET/ compared to this bullshit."

"Explain."

"Ain't nothin' much to explain, look out a fuckin' window--"

Her words are cut short as the man clears his throat, a sharp series of taps being offered to the recorder, manifesting itself upon playback as aggressively loud thumping.

"Oh-"

"Mmhmm."

"Well, th' place is basically a dwarf planet or whatever...Anyway, it's like the /PERFECT/ prison since there ain't no fences - S'weird, yeah? /NO FUCKIN' FENCES/!Means people can't escape since the whole planet's for 'em, they're let loose right off the friggin' bat an' told not to come close to th' troops - ever.They don't care wha'cha fuckin' do - even if it's bad stuff like killin', 'cause like...-Hell... You're already in the worst place possible and considered t'be fuckin' trash, what else can they do?If y' get out of control, they'll just fuckin' pop you in the h-"

Her words are once more overlapped by the sound of the man leaning forward yet again, his voice overwhelming the woman's own as he speaks into the recorder. Despite his hushed tone, the woman abruptly falls silent as it's evident she's lost his attention.

"Let the record show that none of the Officers under my jurisdiction, specifically, have ever broken precinct protocols without being severely reprimanded."

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Right, right. Anyway, yeah. So like, /FUCK/ this place."

"I would think this is quite a forgiving place considering you're never locked in a cell.Freedom is abundant, and we provide the tools for your betterment without putting innocent lives at risk.This is, essentially, a community who's goal is to rehabilitate its own residents."

"Right - but like, this entire planet's a cell. Y'get me?It blows my /FUCKING/ head jus' thinkin' about it 'cause it sounds like some fuckin' Sci-Fi bullshit - even today.There ain't cells 'cause you guys haven't put the money in for that shit-- Too many of us, I'm guessing.So yeah, we just take over old shitty houses made by people with no money.There ain't any official housing either, we just take any house that's empty - or take someone else's, not like anyone cares."

"I do feel the need to remind you that this is the system's best option for uncooperative convicts.Our goal is to rehabilitate, but for those who refuse to change their barbaric ways, there isn't much we can do.Hence why such events exist, as well as the solutions we've put in place to remove such individuals.We do care about the lives of our residents, after all."

"Pshh...Anyway, this place's a fuckin' pit where people just throw criminals in.Ain't nothin' special, it's just a garbage planet - but for people.Guards here suck, weather here sucks, and you suck, too - I'm pretty sure."

"We've only just met--"

"THERE, SEE? BEING ALL FRIGGIN' /SENSIBLE/ AN' SHIT."

"What's wrong with being sensible?"

"What? You think this is Summer Camp? People here /KILL/ other people for shit like food - sometimes, you /ARE/ the fuckin' food.Talkin' like you do'll get you /MURDERED/ out there - just for being a dipshit. Especially one in'a fancy fuckin' suit.Ain't no one here is fuckin' right in the head. The troops ain't, an' the convicts ain't. Even /I'M/ fucked up - an' I'm being fuckin' released!Stay here long enough an' you go fuckin' /NUTS/. Y'kinda have to, or else this place gets REAL depressing, REAL quick. Y'know?"

"... I see.Are you saying you're unfit for release, miss Roanne? Perhaps you might like to correct your statement about our facility.Because if what you're saying is true, then I do feel the need to revise the 5th Irregular's requisition... Hm?"

Immediately following the conclusion to the man's threats, genuine laughter bursts forth from the woman. Her apparent amusement to the man's words going so far as to cause her shackled hands to slap down onto the metal table a number of times as she nearly starves herself of a breath, a few sheets of paper are heard falling to the ground as a result. Despite the older man's attempts, the woman's laughter does not die down for several minutes, and her apparent state of amusement continues for several minutes more - to the point where questions and further threats evoke little response other than further laughter.

The sound of a chair screeching against the floor is abruptly heard as someone abruptly stands, the tape promptly being grabbed and lifted to the man's lips as he concludes his interview. By the tone of his voice, he's clearly lost some of his cool, though succeeds in maintaining an official persona.

"End of tape.Fuck it-- Get her out of here, for fuck's sake."

The audio cuts out shortly there into a mess of clicking and static, it appears the tape ends there.